


Equilibrium Position

by Starrie_Wolf



Series: #LoveWins Challenge [9]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Humour, Family, M/M, Mission Fic, Pendulum redux, PoV Urahara Kisuke, Turn Back The Pendulum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4725473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Gotei is the equivalent of Interpol in a world teeming with magic and latent powers, which means they can't ever catch a break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equilibrium Position

**Author's Note:**

> All recognisable quotes are taken from Bleach animé episode 206 (the first Pendulum episode). Obviously, title is a reference to the pendulum in physics.
> 
> A spell incantation, for the sake of not breaking up the flow of the story - I don't know about you, but I find the English translations of kidō to be hilarious - shows up upon mouseover instead of being written in-text.

“Why is everything you own in some shade of green or white?”

Urahara opened his eyes, just in time to see a head of orange spikes stick itself out of his closet. “There’s also black,” he offered helpfully.

Ichigo gave a snort. “Yeah, no. You’re not going to a wedding in your Shinigami work _uniform_.” One hand wriggled free from the depths of the closet, holding up something that was probably supposed to be a Hawaiian print shirt but looked more like something had vomited lurid green slime all over it; Ichigo’s eyebrows did some kind of complicated twisting motion as though mere words couldn’t convey the sheer extent of his disbelief. “Do I really want to know?”

It was a gag gift from dear Yoruichi that he’d simply forgotten all about, to tell the truth; his taste wasn’t _that_ bad – but it was fun to needle Ichigo. “Well, you see, there was this massive sale in Costa Rica and I just couldn’t resist –”

It was completely worth having the shirt thrown in his face.

And, because he simply couldn’t resist – “Oho?” The shirt was still covering most of his head, the sleeves flopping past his ears, but he knew Ichigo didn’t need to actually see his face to hear the smirk in his voice. “Does that mean you’ve decided on this one?”

“Don’t you even _dare_ , geta-bōshi!”

* * *

 

“You’re still here?”

Urahara glanced up from the mountain of paperwork he’d been struggling through for the past few hours. “So are you,” he pointed out, scrawling his signature on the latest dotted line. What was it about again? Something about supplies requisition? Ah, whatever.

It wasn’t even supposed to be his job, really, but he was stuck filling in for Suì-Fēng while she was down with the flu, because he was one of the few with the necessary clearance and nobody in their right mind would trust Ōmaeda near money – to spend it, yes, but superfluous expenditure was hardly wise when it’s so near to budget cut time –

Hmm. Maybe he should reject that supplies requisition request.

Another folder fell onto his desk with a _thud_ , half on top of that requisition request form, and Urahara gave it up for lost. It would take too much work to write a counter-proposal, so might as well let it pass. “Captain Ukitake wanted me to send this over.”

It was a manila folder stamped with a giant red CLASSIFIED, followed by a slightly smaller URGENT; which was to say, the usual kind of mission that came under the purview of Division Two. He nudged it into Ichigo’s hip. “Shouldn’t you be giving that to Yoruichi-san?”

Fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist, stilling his action. “It’s nine p.m.; she’s long gone home.”

“Huh.” He glanced up at the clock, surprised to see that Ichigo had been right. He must have lost track of time again. “I thought you get off work at six.” This late at night, only a skeleton crew would be running – a few guys from Division Nine, which was in-charge of internal security; the occasional mission handler from Division Twelve, if there was an important mission going on; perhaps the odd cleaner or two from Division Four. Ichigo was only an intern, and furthermore in one of the most easy-going divisions in the Gotei. Between Kuchiki Rukia and Kurosaki Ichigo, Urahara would almost think Ukitake was trying to collect a full set of the Five Great Noble Houses.

The young man in front of him gave a shrug, scowl pasted firmly on his face. “Wanted to finish everything before the weekend.”

Urahara knew for a fact that Ukitake only had him on desk duty, being a fresh Academy graduate and all – top of his class or not, Ichigo was still just a _Substitute_ until he passed the six-month probationary period, after which he could be considered a fully-fledged Shinigami. But he didn’t call Ichigo out on it, instead choosing to flip the folder open.

Ichigo squawked and flung his hands up to cover his eyes, nearly running into the wall of the cubicle while backpedalling. “What – you – it’s _classified_. And I’m not –”

“Uh huh.” Urahara skimmed through the pages. Smuggling ring, unknown number of members, transporting… hm. Where did they get so many semi-precious stones of that size? Good quality ones, too, ones that would fetch a pretty price even on the legal market – good grounding stones were always in popular demand for any mage worth his salt. He could see why ‘portal creation’ and ‘jewel-based alchemy’ were listed under ‘potential enemy abilities’; the Gotei would have noticed if large shipments of gemstones were routinely going missing.

He scribbled a couple of noteworthy points he’d picked up onto a Post-It, stuck it to the first page, and then there was a gunshot and Ichigo crumpled to the floor.

Urahara didn’t remember lunging out of his seat, but he must have, for the next moment he remembered was seeing Ichigo’s face up close, part of a floor tile beneath his head. Ichigo grabbed one of his wrists, squeezing tighter and tighter in warning until he was sure he had Urahara’s attention, until the blond stopped frantically patting him down in search of the bullet wound. Then he deliberately raised his hand into Urahara’s face, four fingers outstretched, index finger tapping his thumb repeatedly in the sign for _not in need of immediate medical attention_.

Red was seeping through the shoulder of Ichigo’s black Shinigami uniform, but his brown eyes were clear and lucid. It must have been muscle memory from his Academy training, rather than the actual injury, that had made him drop like a stone. Urahara took in a breath, held it, and then let it out slowly.

His fingers eased the blood-soaked fabric off Ichigo’s collarbone, until he could see the actual wound. Bullet was nine millimetres, standard size for a pistol, no silencer, not a professional assassin. Angled downwards slightly; so, taller than Ichigo, likely a man, though height wasn’t a conclusive determinant of biological sex. Ichigo had been leaning against the divider that hid his cubicle from general view, where his silhouette would have been clearly visible in the fluorescent light. From the rough trajectory, the shooter was standing near if not at the front doorway. Shot was hurried and badly aimed; conclusion, assailant hadn’t been expecting to run into anyone. Probably not an inside job, there was a logbook in Division One that all Shinigami were expected to sign in and out of each day, and anyone from the inside would have checked there first.

Stealth operation? Division Two did keep the bulk of the classified files, it being the intelligence division. Intel on a currently-ongoing mission, most likely, since all the old files were archived in the library over at Division Eight. This was, of course, assuming that the invader had some idea of the inner workings of the Gotei, a fair assumption given that he (or she) had managed to get all the way into Division Two’s inner office without tripping any of the intruder alarms along the way.

His mind flickered to the new file sitting abandoned on his desk. Alternative hypothesis: the Gotei didn’t know that large shipments of gemstones were going missing because the smuggling ring knew how the Gotei operated, how to keep their thefts just barely under the radar.

Shinigami deserters? Those who’d gotten into the Shinigami Academy, but washed out halfway when they found the curriculum too difficult to continue.

Urahara shifted his position until he was lying on top of Ichigo, propping himself up on his elbows to leave both hands free. The cubicle divider was fully opaque and went all the way from the ceiling to the floor and he’d been completely silent the whole time, so the invader likely didn’t know he was present. He couldn’t risk an illusion spell, not with the assailant’s tread heavy on the floor tiles getting closer; if the shooter was magic-sensitive, he would give himself away.

Ichigo flashed the sign for _combat-ready_ back up at him.

 _Wait_ , Urahara signalled back. Ichigo didn’t have Zangetsu with him, and he was in no hurry to experience first-hand what the young man considered _spellwork_. Ichigo’s general combat style tended to be a little… _rough_ on his surroundings. Division Two’s offices might be due a remodelling, but the blond would be damned if it was done on _his_ salary.

He couldn’t use a spell, but latent powers didn’t register as magic. And if he remembered right, the eighth seat – whose workspace he could just barely see from his position – always kept a mirror on her desk, so she could check her appearance before her boyfriend picked her up from work each evening.

His fingers flexed, once, and the mirror twitched obediently on an invisible axis, shifting just a fraction, just enough to give him a glimpse –

His other hand came up, and the forewarning meant he had the chance to act while the assailant was still reeling from shock. Index finger, to the finger pressed against the trigger, wrenching it backwards sharply with a loud _crack_. Middle and ring fingers, to the wrist, forcing it to swivel around until the muzzle was pointed at the intruder’s own head. Little finger, to the other hand, twisting the knife out of his hand until it dropped harmlessly to the floor. And last but not least, thumb to the tendon behind one of the kneecaps, jerking one leg out from under him.

The invader collapsed onto one knee like a puppet with its strings cut.

Urahara flexed his fingers slowly, deliberately, watching the assailant’s face pale when he realised what was going on. His body tensed involuntarily, sending ripples of resistance echoing down the invisible threads connecting them, but Urahara was hardly a first-rank mage to be bothered by something like that. He watched the other man rear back, lips moving soundlessly, only to falter when he realised that the Gotei offices were indeed shielded by anti-teleportation wards. Urahara brought his other hand sweeping in, and he didn’t have time to cry out before he was brained by the eighth seat’s chair. The pistol was safely retrieved before he could accidentally shoot himself – interrogating the dead _was_ possible, but their resident Necromancer hated being called up to perform what he considered _menial tasks_ – and dropped onto Urahara’s desk. Last was the spell to call up thick ropes coloured a fiery orange, wrapping around him securely.

The blond let his hands drop, satisfied that the intruder was currently unconscious and unlikely to go anywhere anytime soon.

“Can you… get off me now?”

Startled, Urahara looked down to find that yes, he was indeed still lying on top of Ichigo. The redhead’s voice was a little hoarse, a dazed look in his eyes. He frowned, eyes darting down to Ichigo’s injury to inspect it properly. Perhaps it was worse than he’d originally thought?

“The bullet’s lodged into the back of your collarbone,” he kept his voice soft, patting Ichigo's cheek until the brown eyes were mostly focused on him. “Hey, stay with me.” The blood loss wasn’t severe, the aim had been so completely off that the shot had missed pretty much everything important. “I’m going to extract it now.”

He didn’t warn Ichigo that it would hurt; he didn’t need to. Urahara shifted slightly higher, until he could see the entirety of the injured shoulder, including the entry wound.

He didn't often use his powers on something he couldn’t see, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t. Invisible strings slithered down Ichigo’s shoulder, drawing a shudder from the supine body. They didn’t have senses the way a person might, but he could feel the moment unbroken skin gave way to slippery flesh, the moment his strings encountered something foreign and hard inside the open wound. He wriggled his fingers slowly, tracing nonsense patterns on Ichigo’s chest, until two of his strings latched on the ends of the bullet and the remaining three were bracing against flesh and bone.

The blond glanced at Ichigo, flexed his fingers to loosen them, and _yanked_.

Ichigo gave a pained hiss through clenched teeth, having wisely clamped down earlier to ensure he didn’t bite off his own tongue by accident. The bullet slid free with a crunch and a sickening squelch; Urahara’s other hand clapped over the wound the moment it hit the floor with a soft _plink_ , green sparks already dancing over his fingertips.

The green glow of healing magic vanished, and Urahara brushed away the remaining blood to make sure the injury was properly healed. Ichigo sat up slowly, rotating his shoulder gingerly, and gave him a nod. Satisfied, Urahara set about notifying the on-call team over in Division Nine, who’d take over.

When the transfer was complete, he nudged Ichigo’s knees. The young man was leaning against the cubicle divider, legs drawn up to his chest, and looked to be half-asleep. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Ichigo scowled automatically, but the bone-deep fatigue – a side-effect of induced accelerated healing – had clearly already set in. “Fine.”

* * *

Yoruichi inspected the file Urahara tossed down on the coffee table in front of her, one finely-plucked eyebrow raising.

“Not exactly the kind of ring I thought you were going for.”

Urahara smiled lightly, though it never reached his eyes. His usual hat was shadowing his eyes – but his childhood friend didn’t actually need to see his eyes to read his mood.

She snorted.

“All yours, Kisuke.”

* * *

 

“Excuse me. Unit Captain.”

At the interruption, Urahara paused in the middle of a conversation with Yoruichi and Suì-Fēng, ignoring the way the latter bristled like an angry cat. “Did you find them?” Not that he actually needed a verbal response; one look at their countenances was sufficient to give him the answer.

“Yes sir.”

Yoruichi’s gaze sharpened. “It’s about the –”

Urahara cut her off with a brusque nod before she could finish the sentence, though his tone remained as airy as ever. “Sorry ‘bout this, it seems like the people who I’ve been looking for have been found, so can I head over there first?”

She sighed, conceding the point. “I guess you’ll have to. All right, I’ll head over to the venue first.”

“Thank you, Yoruichi-san.”

Suì-Fēng finally found her voice. “Hold on a moment, Yoruichi-sama! If this man does not return in time –”

Yoruichi flapped an arm. “Well, it’ll be fine.”

Kisuke vanished from sight, leaving Suì-Fēng spluttering in outrage behind him.

* * *

 

His team had done well, and they were right to call for backup. Urahara wasn’t especially magic-sensitive, but he could feel the font of wild magic frizzling within the deceptive-looking dilapidated cabin, a geyser a hair away from erupting. Hardly something a group of four to sixth-rank mages can handle on their own.

The barrier was solid, the work of at least an eighth-rank Runecaster. From the look of things, the foundation keystone was buried within the wards, likely within that very cabin. No novice mistakes to exploit. Really, ward-breaking would have been more Hachi’s forte than his, but unfortunately Hachi was otherwise occupied at the moment.

Urahara checked his watch. He was cutting it really close.

Well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

The blond held his right hand up against the barrier, knuckles barely a hair’s width away from touching it, and shed the mask of a lazy happy-go-lucky paper-pusher like water sluicing off a duck’s back. Everyone would know by Monday, anyway. The identities of all thirteen Gotei captains were always made publicised knowledge, in an effort to balance transparency with the need for secrecy. In fact, it was actually written into his contract that he should be able to handle any assassination and/or kidnapping attempts on his person. Head-Captain Yamamoto never took any chances with the legalese.

His lips moved silently, reciting the incantation for the most powerful standard spell in his repertoire. “Way of Destruction level ninety-one, Thousand-Hand Bright Heaven Culling-Sear!”

No matter how strong a standard barrier was, it couldn’t handle anything stronger than a level-ninety offensive spell, and Urahara highly doubted that a Shinigami deserter – someone who couldn’t even keep up with the standard Academy curriculum – could become a Spellcrafter.

The flaming pink spears slammed into the barrier with a thunder of drums, shredding it in a matter of seconds. Most of them dissipated upon contact with the barrier, but a few of them made it as far as the cabin itself, ripping away huge chunks of wood in the façade.

The arrest was almost laughably easy after that.

Urahara checked his watch again, and promptly turned the clean-up over to his team. If he hurried, he might still be able to make it for the wedding.

* * *

He stepped into the hotel ballroom to find a party in full swing. Which was to say, about half of his esteemed colleagues were already in various states of inebriation. He picked his way carefully through the tangle of limbs sprawled across the floor – _lightweights_ , really, it hadn’t even been three hours yet – until he reached the head table, where Ichigo was sitting alone, chin propped on one palm, staring into his cup like it held the all answers to the universe.

“Getting started without me?”

“Well.” The look Ichigo shot him was pure exasperation. “We couldn’t hold the actual ceremony without you, so we got started on the reception first.” He pointedly downed the rest of his sake and gestured for a refill.

Uninvited, Urahara dropped into the vacant seat beside him. “Can I make it up to you?”

“I don’t know.” Ichigo slanted him a look, sipping at his fresh cup of sake. “How _would_ you make up for standing me up at our wedding?”

His tone was more resigned than aggressive, and Urahara dared to cover the hand holding the cup with his own. “Well, I could start by making the wedding _happen_ in the first place?”

Ichigo set the cup down slowly, lacing their fingers together. “I don’t know,” his voice was thoughtful. “I’m starting to see why Yoruichi-san kept asking me ‘what insanity prompted you to actually accept his proposal’ and then rolling about the floor in laughter every time I tried to ask her to explain.”

With some effort, Urahara forced down the fissure of nervous anxiety bubbling in his throat. Ichigo wasn’t the kind of person to entertain second thoughts – once he’d set his mind on something, he’d accomplish it no matter what obstacles stood in his way.

As though sensing his doubts, Ichigo’s thumb rubbed soothingly over his palm. “In any case,” the redhead calmly changed the subject, pointing at something in the crowd. “I’m not sure he’s capable of marrying us anymore.” Urahara followed the direction of his finger to see the original officiator of their wedding, Captain Kyōraku, snoring away on one of the tables, an actual mountain of sake jugs littered around him.

“Hmm,” the blond agreed, scanning the crowd for anyone else who might be able to help out. Unfortunately, the only duo still sober appeared to be Ichigo’s sisters, trying to escape from the clutches of a loudly wailing (and drunk) Isshin, and he wasn’t about to ask a pair of twenty-year-olds to marry them.

It wouldn’t be legal at any rate. Marriages had to be officiated by a priest, a judge, or a captain. There were no ordained priests on the guest list, Yamamoto wasn’t invited, and every captain he could see was too drunk to navigate something as complicated as a wedding ceremony. He could call Yoruichi, who was suspiciously missing from the crowd, but he’d probably have to live with the ribbing for the rest of his life. Or he could…

“Let’s go rescue your sisters; we do need witnesses.”

Ichigo gave him a bemused look, but obediently rose from his seat. He winced, swaying slightly, and nearly fell against Urahara’s shoulder.

“Are _you_ even capable of giving legal consent right now?”

Ichigo shot him a venomous scowl. “I’m not so drunk that I can’t _bankai your ass_.”

Urahara shuddered at the amount he’d have to shell out for damages if _that_ happened. This wasn’t a cheap hotel. “I’d prefer if you don’t shove a _literal_ sword up my ass, thank you.”

Ichigo snorted, but permitted Urahara to slide an arm around his waist, keeping a steadying hand at the small of his back.

“Hi, Ichi-nii!” chirped Yuzu as they neared, still attempting to wriggle out from her father’s clutches. “Hello, Urahara-san!”

Deftly, Urahara shoved a few seat cushions he’d picked up on their way over into Isshin’s chest, and while the retired Shinigami was distracted Yuzu and Karin finally managed to extricate themselves.

“Thanks,” Karin muttered, dusting herself off. She looked expectantly back at them. “Did you need something?”

“Witnesses,” Urahara told her before Ichigo could open his mouth. He gestured at the rest of the ballroom. “As you can see, I’m not entirely sure the rest of them remembers what the reception’s for anymore.”

Yuzu tilted her head, skipping out of the way of a passed-out drunk on the floor as they made their way to the relative isolation of the head table. “Who’s officiating?”

“Can I do it?” Karin asked gleefully.

“No.” Ichigo was quick to shut her down. “You need to make captain first, Karin.”

She didn’t look too put off by it. “Hitsugaya did it at age twenty-seven; I’m sure I can beat his record.”

“You’ll have to try harder; your brother’s about to set a new record,” Urahara informed her solemnly. There was already talk to promote Ichigo to one of the currently-open captaincy positions; either the Third, the Fifth or the Ninth. Zaraki actually wanted Ichigo as his co-lieutenant, but he was getting outvoted at every turn, much to Ichigo’s secret relief.

“So uh…” Yuzu trailed off, eyes widening. As one, the three Kurosaki siblings turned to look at Urahara.

“Is that even _legal_?” wondered Ichigo, poking Urahara in the arm. “You’re not officially instated as a captain until Monday.”

“Technically.” Urahara grinned back at him. “According to my contract, I’m no longer the third seat of Division Two as of midnight last night, so you could argue that I’m already the captain of the Twelfth today.” He twirled the signet ring, which he’d picked up (read: appropriated) on a whim from the office that morning while waiting for his team to report in.

Ichigo’s eyes flashed amber at the sight of the ring – the official mark of a captain – and he grinned back. [“Well, if you say so.”](http://36.media.tumblr.com/db224ab606e73bee36b23924ec0c6aff/tumblr_inline_nmfj3mvuv71rv157u_500.png)

“So. Do you, Kurosaki Ichigo, agree to take Urahara Kisuke as your husband?”

Ichigo blinked. Twice. “What, that’s it?”

Urahara scratched a cheek sheepishly. “Well, I didn’t memorise the rest of the lines. But this is the important one, isn’t it?”

Ignoring his sisters bursting into peals of giggles behind him, Ichigo clapped a hand to his forehead. “Yeah, fine. I mean, I do.”

“And I, Urahara Kisuke, do take Kurosaki Ichigo as my husband.”

“Call me a bride, and I will punch your _skull_ in,” Ichigo hissed.

“We may now kiss each other,” Urahara smoothly segued, and laughed as Ichigo leaned in.

* * *

 

* * *

 

**Bonus Omake:**

Inoue: I love Kurosaki-kun and I reject this reality!

Everyone else: _WAIT_.

Matsumoto/Kyōraku: Don't reject the sake!

**Author's Note:**

> I apparently pulled a Kubo and set the entire fic within two days. Here's the full timeline:  
> \- Friday morning: Ichigo attempting to find something decent in Urahara's closet  
> \- Friday night: a member of the smuggling ring infiltrated the Gotei offices and ran into the duo  
> \- Friday shortly past midnight: Urahara went over to Yoruichi's house to request that he be assigned the mission  
> \- Saturday around noon: the dismantling of the smuggling ring  
> \- Saturday afternoon: the wedding  
> \- Sunday: the honeymoon  
> \- Monday morning: Urahara officially instated as the captain of Division Twelve; hence why he got stuck with all the paperwork the previous week - nobody assigns missions to someone about to be transferred out of the division
> 
> Q: Why didn't Ichigo do any fighting?  
> A: Because 1) I couldn't think of a better superpower than "superhuman learning curve" for him, and this can't be properly showcased in a fic this short and 2) imagine the massive property damage.
> 
> And I can't tag the Established Relationship or the Marriage because it's supposed to be a plot twist.
> 
> [Rebloggable version of the “Well, if you say so.” picture.](http://starriewolf.tumblr.com/post/115749134584/of-serendipity-and-mural-decorations)


End file.
